“Would you like some music?” the car asks, its algorithms apparently determining that a complete standstill on a major thoroughfare should lead it to offer distractions.

He chose a sultry female voice for the UI because it pissed Lacey off, and by the end, hate-sex was the only kind she was offering. When they went their separate ways (either prematurely or six months too late, depending on his mood), he renamed the car after her.

“Traffic report,” he says, and because ever since the last time he drove up to the Bay Area, the car’s computer has developed an annoying habit of starting with the whole damned western frontier and backing its way into relevancy, he specifies, “Local. See if you can keep it in this time zone, Lacey.”